


As the Circle Goes

by Tabithian



Series: Light the Path [30]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This seriously has to be some kind of karmic bullshit right here, Jason thinks, wry little twist to his thoughts as he stares at the poster in front of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Circle Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt from Zitaoholic on Tumblr for this prompt:  
>  
> 
> [“ur just a random stranger and i’ve been ranting to you for like 20 minutes about how much i hate this one band but now several groups of people came up to you asking for pics and autographs, and oh shit it turns out you’re in the band i’ve been going on about” au](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/132094416219/ijustwannaselloutmyfuneraltbh-you-work-in-the)
> 
>    
> ...and then things did not go as planned, so this happened. /o\

This seriously has to be some kind of karmic bullshit right here, Jason thinks, wry little twist to his thoughts as he stares at the poster in front of him.

It's been years since he last saw one like this – in person - not some grainy picture in the paper or staring back at him from his computer screen.

Figures, really, the way his luck works. 

He's finally gotten his life back on track enough that signing up to be a Big Brother seemed like a good idea, a way to give back, and of course the little brat's all about these idiots. Jason's running early, managed to duck out of work to meet him and this new friend of his Jason still hasn't met at the record store signing, but.

This fucking poster.

“Bullshit,” Jason says, little huff of amusement as he takes in the damn thing, picture of the band all photoshopped to hell and back, any faults or flaws all neatly edited out.

“I'm sorry?”

Jason blinks, looks over to where some skinny guy is lurking at the mouth of the alley next to the building. Jacket that's a few sizes too big over a plaid flannel shirt, hair artfully messy and the dorky glasses guys his age tend to favor. 

People have been in and out of the record store since Jason got there, shooting him wary looks which Jason ignores from long experience. He knows what he looks like, especially after he's gone without shaving for a few days, busy down at the garage with the weather starting to turn.

“These assholes,” Jason says, tipping his head towards the poster, little worse for wear with the way the weather's been.

The guy raises an eyebrow, odd little smile on his face.

“You don't like them?”

Jason eyes the guy, who doesn't look old enough to have seen the band when thy first started out all those years ago. Wasn't around to see the way the band's members came and went, style shifting over the years. Probably only knows their latest album, sharp turn into this.

Hell, Jason doesn't even know what this is, really.

“They used to be good,” Jason says, and looks at the poster again. Mutters, more to himself than the guy, “ _We_ used to be good.”

“What?”

Shit.

The guy's looking at Jason now, all _interested_.

And Jason.

He's come a long way from that angry kid he used to be. Thinking he was invincible or close enough to it thanks to youth and finding fame too damn young and finding out the hard way how damn wrong he was.

Some fucking joker and that goddamned accident that had blindsided Jason and left him reeling.

The band had tried to help, but the accident just made everything worse.

All the family trouble Jason had been going through up to that point, dealing with the accident itself and the long climb – crawl – back from his injuries.

He fucked up big time there, he knows.

Alienating the only people who'd ever given a damn who weren't obligated to, pushing them away and cutting all contact with them until they'd.

They never really gave up, but Jason kept changing his phone number, sent the letters and everything else that made their way to him back until he grew the hell up.

He's got a stack of letters – mostly Alfred, some Bruce. Dick, the dick somehow manages to keep finding out Jason's phone number and texts him all the damn time about random shit though Jason never replies. (Doesn't know what he could even say.)

Hell, he should have made a effort before this, something, even just a goddamned letter.

Jason snorts, looks at the guy who's watching him, little frown on his face.

“You really want to know what I think about them?”

The guy blinks, then smiles that weird little smile of his, and Jason.

“Okay, just remember you asked for it,” Jason says, and starts talking.

And talking and talking and talking.

There isn't any real anger or even annoyance in any of it, time and perspective letting Jason know how much of an ass he's been with all that misplaced anger of his, but.

It's not like he doesn't think this shit from time to time. 

He keeps tabs on the jackasses, notices when the band loses or gains a new member, even if Jason isn't interested enough to hunt down pictures, he knows names. Knows when they stumble into a scandal or other, usually something stupidly small that the tabloids blow up into something huge.

The whole time that damned voice in the back of his head insisting he do something, apologize already, who fucking knows.

Jason sighs, stares at the poster and it's like staring at strangers. (Literally, in most cases because the band's changed so much over the years.)

Dick, God, he still looks the same. Stupid hair and that goddamned smile of his front and center, the rest of the band – people Jason's never met but has read about – indistinct blurs in the background. Bright lights and dark shadows, picture taken at one of their shows used to promote their newest album tour.

The band Jason put so much into until he'd fucked up. 

The fact that they'd ended up replacing him with one of the damn roadies, some kid none of them noticed until after the accident. (Okay, no. The sound guys noticed him. The guitar techs noticed him, everyone but them, until the kid had done something to catch Dick's eye, Bruce's.)

“A goddamned roadie,” Jason says, and he has to laugh because fucking really, it's like one of the stupid made for television movies Gayle down at the garage watches when she's supposed to be working the phone. “Seriously, how the hell does that happen?”

The guy shifts, looks a little uncomfortable, and Jason gets it okay? He's not really angry or irritated or whatever, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have very strong opinions when it comes to these jackasses.

“Um.”

Jason cracks a smile, goes to apologize for being a cranky old bastard when he hears the door to the building open.

“Jason?”

Jason turns, sees the quiet surprise on his new Little Brother's face and smiles.

“Hey, brat,” he greets, voice going soft on him. “You get your autographs?”

Colin hunches into the oversized coat of his, face pinking as he darts a look at the guy Jason's been bitching at for the last however long.

“Um,” he says, small and hesitant, hands gripping the edges of the CD case in his hands. “All but one?”

The dark little shadow at his side huffs.

“Drake,” he snaps, all imperious, little dusting of pink along his cheeks as he pulls Colin closer. “You are neglecting your duties.”

The guy rolls his eyes, but the smile on his lips is fond and amused, eyes going from Colin's punk of a friend to Colin who's looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You didn't tell me your friend was a fan, Damian.”

Damian scowls, and the realization that hits Jason at the resemblance to Bruce has him choking back laughter.

“Holy shit,” Jason says, making a face when all three of them look at him. “You're Bruce's spawn.”

Damian bares his teeth, and oh, God, this.

Jason had heard, of course. There was a scandal, manager of one of the most popular bands to come from Gotham and his secret love child. (Jason had laughed himself sick, reading tabloid article after tabloid article when the news broke.)

Also - 

Jason looks at the guy who's watching him a little nervously.

“I can't believe you let me bitch to you about _you_ ,” he says, because fucking really. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The guy makes a face, mumbles something about Jason looking familiar.

Jason looks at him, and from the way the guy's eyes slide away from him Jason knows he knows exactly who Jason is.

And Jason, okay.

He's kept an eye on these jackasses over the years, read interviews of theirs here and there.

Knows the guy who replaced him, took his spot in the band was a fan. 

Big, big fan who ran away from home to sign up as a roadie for them. Worked long hours setting things up and breaking them back down again over and over again with stars in his eyes because he got to see them up on stage. 

Jason's even seen pictures of him, but that was years ago and puberty's been more than kind to the guy. (Jason's a shallow bastard sometimes, fucking sue him.)

“Drake.”

The guy winces, looking at Damian. 

Guilty, Jason realizes.

Colin's looking between them, confused and a little worried.

“Dick still making those godawful jokes of his?” Jason asks.

Figures what the hell, the guy obviously knows who Jason is, and it's been long enough.

And now Damian's staring at him, all serious and intent the way Bruce gets and this guy, Drake – Jason's replacement – blinks.

“Always,” he answers, slow, hesitant. “Bruce says it's a medical condition.”

And there's no cure for Dick's kind of idiocy, Jason knows.

“He would,” Jason says, rubbing a hand over his face. “They still in there?”

Damian's scowling at him, inching towards the guy, like a tiny, growly little Bruce. Shit with words and the whole emotional spectrum, but protective as hell when it comes to the people in his life.

“I. Yeah,” Drake says, head tilted. 

Jason takes a deep breath, eyes landing on that stupid poster, feeling the others watching him. This isn't quite the way he'd pictured going about trying to mend these particular bridges, but when did anything in his life go the way he expected?

“Think I could get their autographs?” Jason pauses, flicking a look at Bruce's spawn, feeling a smirk curving his lips. “Or yours?”

Damian makes a noise like a tiny angry kitten, and Jason hears Colin's laugh as he keeps the brat from lunging for Jason.

And the guy, Tim Drake, former runaway/roadie for a bunch of jackasses and current rock star, blinks, startled, and then smiles, slow and sweet.

“I think there's a pretty good chance of that, actually."


End file.
